The driveway sweeps through a copse of oak, ash and tulip trees before emerging in front of an ornamental lake, vivid at this time of year with irises and water lilies. Visitors clamber out of their cars, stroll through a cloister decorated with modern stained glass windows and end up in a light and airy room with oak floor and cedar ceiling.

The buildings and grounds have the air of a discreet country house hotel or perhaps a very nice provincial museum. In fact this is Coychurch crematorium in Bridgend, south Wales, identified yesterday as - probably - the loveliest crem in the UK.

In her new book, snappily entitled Death Redesigned (British Crematoria: History, Architecture and Landscape), Professor Hilary Grainger takes the reader on a tour of Britain's 251 crems and reaches interesting conclusions about 20th-century architecture - and the British attitude to death.

"Crematoria are a neglected area of architectural history because, I think, death is still a taboo subject for many people," says Grainger. "They are the invisible buildings of the 20th century."

Invisible not only because they are much talked about but also because of their design. Many were built in the 1950s, 60s and 70s by local authorities, often to a bland blueprint using unimaginative materials. "It was as if the designers didn't want anyone to even notice that the crematorium was there. They wanted it to disappear into the landscape."

Not at Coychurch. The crematorium was designed by Maxwell Fry, best known for the Sun House in Hampstead, north London, feted for its horizontally banded windows and white stucco finish. Fry felt cheated when his mother was cremated at one of those lookalike crematoria and was impressed while working in India at the sense of ceremony in funerals he observed there. He was commissioned to design Coychurch crematorium and, using local limestone and ironstone for the buildings, created a masterpiece which opened in 1970.

Joanna Hamilton, its superintendent and registrar, is used to receiving students of architecture and stained glass enthusiasts rolling up to have a look. They are also accustomed to requests for people from outside the area to be cremated there because of its beauty.

"I think what makes it so special is the sense of drama," she says. "The way the driveway suddenly gives a lovely view of the buildings, the way you climb gradually through the cloister into the chapel."

Nor are mourners here subject to that awful moment when curtains close around the coffin. Here it remains in view until the catafalque on which it rests descends through a slate floor.

Says Hamilton: "People feel it is a calm place but also a place where they can feel engaged in the drama of death. I think that's important".